


the trees keep the tempo

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A Small Dose of Smut, Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hair-pulling, M/M, Magic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: The last of his kind, Lance embarks on a journey. His destiny is already written. Ancient sorcery calls him.Keith and Shiro have a life together. A cabin in the mountains. Sheep. A Dog. A creeping darkness on their doorstep.In which three lives impact each other far more than any thought possible, and fate is a cruel beast.





	the trees keep the tempo

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to Memesquad's very own Sokka. You're awesome.
> 
> This is a lowkey highkey Superbrothers: Sword & Sworcery EP AU. There are parts that are directly referenced from the game, and other parts that I bent at a whim to fit the story.
> 
> All characters are intended to be 18+ miss me with that discourse shit
> 
> Title from Plant Life by Owl City  
> Right-aligned quotes are from S:S&S EP
> 
> Warnings for about three paragraphs of smut somewhere in here. I didn't think it quite warranted an explicit rating?

Session I: _"We are profoundly grateful that you have chosen to participate in this experimental treatment for acute soul-sickness."_ \- The Archetype

* * *

 

 

These mountains are made of more than just rock. In them is heart and emotion and magic.

Or at least there was.

Lance glances over his shoulder at the mountain pass behind him. Something has happened. He's not sure entirely what, but there's something deep inside his heart that _knows_.

He's the only one left.

The Scythians were once such a flourishing people, tucked away in valleys and hidden coves, until...

For a moment, Lance stares up the path he'd just walked. To go back would likely mean certain death. To carry on means to embrace the unknown and mourn for his family another day. But he can't just... Leave them.

Sighing softly, Lance drops his pack to the side of the road. Whatever is hunting him, he risks letting it catch up by stopping, but he's going to say goodbye.

Lance carefully wanders off the path and into the surrounding brush. Numbly, he gathers rocks. He tries to find the smoothest ones. His movements are mechanical as he brings them back to where his pack is resting on the side of the road.

As time passes, sweat grows on Lance's brow with the midday sun, and the small tower of rocks grows. By the time he places the final stone on the tiny monument, he knows he should move on. He knows this is the end. He knows there's nothing but pain for him back up the path.

Instead of moving on, he sits on his knees in front of the grave. The mountains whisper. Maybe it's a warning. Maybe they, too, are grieving, for this was their family too.

There's nothing Lance wants more than to pick up in pack, go back through the pass, and find his family waiting with open arms. Except that reality is gone, now. There is only one way to go, and that's forward.

Lance doesn't cry. Perhaps he would in another life, but he's known his fate since he was old enough to feel the magic flow through the valleys, rustling leaves and calling to unseen spirits. There is a woeful errand he must complete.

Rising, Lance picks up his pack, shrugs the straps onto his shoulders, and carries on.

There's a profound longing sorrow lodged in his chest, but maybe that will make the end not hurt so much.

 

Keith is whittling away at a stick with his knife when he sees someone stumble down the mountain pass.

At first, he thinks he's dreaming. That he nodded off while watching the sheep with Red, and he's just imagining someone coming from the mountains. They've been uninhabitable for years now, the pass abandoned in favor of sea routes.

But in his distraction, the edge of his knife catches on his thumb. The pain and sight of blood makes Keith realize that he is very distinctly _not_ dreaming.

Keith watches, confused and slightly wary, as the stranger approaches, stopping to pat one of the sheep on its head before he continues making his way towards Keith.

“Who are you?” Keith asks, standing. He sets his shoulders. The stranger is taller than him, by a bit, but Keith knows how to make others take him seriously. He's still holding his knife, but the stranger doesn't seem too fazed by this fact.

“The Scythian,” says the stranger.

Keith's brow furrows. “ _The_?” he echoes. “I thought the Scythian race fell long ago?”

The stranger tilts his head, curious, and then shakes his head. “Not so long ago... I'm the only one left.” He looks at Keith with impossibly blue eyes. Impossibly sad, too.

“Your name?” Keith presses.

The stranger—though soon not to be—glances away for a moment. He seems to be contemplating his answer. Names have power, after all. Keith remembers Shiro telling him never to invoke the name of the Mingi Taw, or else summon some dark beasts from the caverns below those cursed and rocky hills.

Finally, the stranger answers: “My name is Lance.”

Keith appraises him. “Why are you here?”

Lance looks up, staring at the clear sky. “A storm is going to brew. I have to stop it.”

Keith blinks at him, and then blinks up at the blue of the sky. There's a couple of fluffy clouds slowly making their way towards the horizon.

Keith looks back at Lance. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever. How long have you been traveling?”

Lance shrugs. “A while. You should leave here. There is darkness pursuing down the mountain.”

Keith looks at him like he's crazy. “Darkness?” he echoes incredulously. But something in his chest flutters with anticipation. There are old gods in those mountains. Old hatred. Old anger.

“Fate,” Lance says softly. “It chased me here.”

“You're delusional,” Keith states.

Lance just blinks at him, and Keith feels at least a little bit bad for him. Now that he bothers to pay attention, Lance's cheekbones are drawn, eyes tired. He's strong, sure, if lanky, but it's been a while since he's gotten decent rest, Keith can tell.

Keith worries his lip, and then he opens his mouth to blurt out: “Hey, uh... Me and my... friend live a bit further in the valley. We have food there, and you could rest before... Stopping the storm or whatever it is you're doing.”

Lance blinks at him, surprise in his vibrant blue gaze. “That would be much appreciated.”

“I'm Keith, by the way,” Keith informs him. Then, he whistles.

Red's auburn head pops up from where she'd been sleeping with one of the sheep. With an excited bark, she begins rounding up the sheep, nipping at their coats to get them moving. It's not like the sheep can really get anywhere, but Shiro's trying to give the grass closer to their cabin a break.

“Follow me,” Keith tells Lance as Red starts herding the sheep down into the valley after them.

 

“Keith,” Shiro says at the sound of the door opening. “Did you...” Shiro turns, and then sees that Keith isn't alone. “Who is this?”

Keith gives a half-shrug. “He came through the mountain pass,” he says. “Says his name is Lance.”

Lance's expression gives away that he feels out of place. Shiro does his best to make him feel more at ease. “Welcome, Lance,” he says, standing from where he's sitting at the dining table. He sticks out his hand. “My name is Shiro. Make yourself at home.”

Lance takes his hand and gives Shiro a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” He glances around the cabin.

Shiro is suddenly aware of his and Keith's home. It's small—one room—but sufficient. There's a dining table on one side of the doorway and various cooking tools tucked away here and there in cabinets. On the other side are Keith and Shiro's beds, each tucked against one wall, with dressers for each of them. Directly across the door, a fireplace, and in front of that, a few logs that Shiro had just brought in.

A bit self-conscious, Shiro goes to put another log on the fire. When he turns back to Lance, all he's done is taken his pack off his back and set it at his feet.

“You said you came through the mountains?” Shiro asks curiously.

“Uh, yeah,” Lance says. “I'm the Scythian.”

“The?” Shiro echoes as he goes to search in the cabinets for some sort of food.

“That's what I said,” Keith grumbles.

Shiro finds a can of soup from whenever the last time he and Keith made the (long) trip to the nearest marketplace. “Soup okay?”

“You don't have to...” Lance starts, but Shiro notices the way his blue eyes stay trained on the can.

“It's no problem,” Shiro insists. He pours the soup in a saucepan.

“Uh, I'm the last one,” Lance says. Shiro glances up at him questioningly as he sets the food over the fire. Lance clears his throat and clarifies: “To answer your question. The Scythian. There's just me left.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. “I'm sorry. What happened? If you don't mind my asking.”

Lance's lips press into a thin line.

“Sorry,” Shiro says quickly. “I didn't mean to pry.”

Lance rubs the back of his neck, seeming unsure. “It's not the prying I mind... Just... It's a touchy subject, sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Shiro says.

“So if it's not the prying that bothers you,” Keith butts in. “What are you doing down the mountain?”

Lance peers at him. “I told you, a storm is coming.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “That doesn't really mean anything to me.”

Lance stares at him for a moment, and then glances over at Shiro. “I'm headed for Mingi Taw.”

Shiro is shocked into silence for a moment. Keith, too, by the expression on his face.

Ancient power lives in the caves beneath Mingi Taw. Ancient, vicious, ruthless power. Shiro had gone there, once, after a lost sheep. He'd returned with no sheep and enough nightmare fuel for his lifetime. Evil lurks there. The crunch of bones beneath feet. The glimmer of eyes in the distance. The whisper of things unnatural in the back of your mind.

Shiro's not going back. But... He meets Lance's blue, blue gaze for a heartbeat, and his resolve cracks.

Lance looks between them. “Neither of you... Would happen to know how to get there, would you?”

Shiro coughs, finally regaining his voice. “I... do, actually. There's a key to get in. I have it.” He turns to take the food off the fire and pours some soup into a bowl for Lance, setting it on the dining table alongside a spoon. “However, I would not recommend going there.”

“I have to,” Lance says, quiet but determined. He sits where Shiro placed the bowl. “Thank you for your kindness, by the way.”

Shiro watches Lance eat for a moment.

“You can stay the night here,” Shiro says suddenly, and Lance looks up at him, surprised.

“I don't want to impose.”

“It's fine,” Shiro says. “We have a cot we could set up. Nothing too fancy, but it's a bed. Technically. You look like you could use the rest.”

“I...” Lance says, biting his lip. “Thank you.”

“You're really going to Mingi Taw?” Keith asks softly.

“You don't have to come with me,” Lance retorts. “Neither of you. In fact, it's best if I go alone. But I have to go. There's something important for me there.”

“There's darkness there, too,” Shiro warns.

“I'm aware,” Lance says, voice level. “But that darkness is not contained to the caverns. I have to stop it before it grows beyond the rocks of Mingi Taw.”

“If you say so,” Keith says, disbelieving.

And that is how Shiro ends up helping a pretty Scythian— _the_ Scythian—on an impossible journey. Shiro convinces Lance to put off going to the caverns for a few days, partly in hopes that Lance will have second thoughts and decide against it. Even as the three of them end up talking together late into the nights, Lance still grows increasingly more anxious as time passes.

On the fourth day, Shiro caves.

“Tomorrow,” he tells Lance. “Be ready for the worst.”

 

Shiro left Lance after unlocking the gate to the caverns of Mingi Taw. He'd giving Lance a hug, warm and comforting and kind, and then watched as Lance descended into shadow.

The entrance of the caverns is located in a jut of rock at the base of the mountain. The cliff stabs ominously into the sky, a grim marker for the depths. Lance gazes up at it, feeling something in bones chant _go back, turn away_. Heedless of their warnings, he forges on.

The caverns are dark almost as soon as he enters. Dim swaths of light seep in from unknown sources, just barely keeping the shadows at bay. A constant war. One the light is losing.

For a moment, Lance considers going back for a torch of some sort, but he's already had Shiro take him this far when he obviously didn't want to bring Lance here. He's going to make it through this.

Lance doesn't know what lurks here, but he does know what he's here for. At the heart of Mingi Taw is the megatome: a guide of pages and ink, sentient words written within its bindings. For most, it is an artifact of an ancient time, but it will open for Lance. It knows him.

Something screeches in the distance as Lance makes his way deeper. The darkness swims before his eyes, teeming with the unknown.

He presses onward.

Another cry. This time, Lance recognizes it for what it is: a scream.

There should be no one else down here. The only entrance is gated, and Shiro keeps the key. But Shiro had also mentioned something once about bones... Lance had assumed animal bones. Maybe he was incorrect.

His heart pounds against his ribs.

Something brushes against Lance's arm, and he bites down a yelp as he jumps away, only to find that he'd brushed against the wall. The path had narrowed considerably, and in focusing on the scream and associated thoughts, he'd neglected to pay attention to his surroundings.

But now that the seed is planted, Lance can't stop thinking about the walls reaching for him. About shadows with grasping hands, claws meant to tear and torture.

Swallowing, he carefully carries on, eyes straining to see in the dim. He tries to stay exactly in the middle of the path as much as possible.

Suddenly, light spills into Lance's vision, temporarily blinding him. The cavern ceiling falls away, and before Lance is a clearing. Grass struggles to grow on the rocks. Sunlight—cold, cold sunlight—spills into the open space. Lance shivers.

He pushes forward. There are three openings carved into the far side of the clearing, where the mountain remembers to be a mountain and continues it's rocky ascent. The outside openings are rectangular entrances, frames engraved with runes and glyphs. They mock Lance from their high positions upon the stone walls.

The third opening, obscured in shadow despite the sunlight dancing across the mountain rock, seems to be access from a dais of sorts. If Lance really wanted to, he could climb up the makeshift stone balcony before him and enter through the center doorway.

He decides against it. The darkness drives him away.

Perhaps there is less hatred from another entrance.

Inside the mountain again, Lance realizes this room must have been made by some ancient god. There is power in the walls, in the rock and stone and gravel beneath his feet. There is sorcery in the air, cloying with the scent of it. It clings to Lance, dragging cold fingertips over his skin.

At the center of the room, there are three things: a book, leather bound and unassuming; a stand, approximately twice Lance's height and possibly wooden; and a cow's skull, mounted on the stand, horns curling towards the dark ceiling.

The skull's eyes follow Lance across the room. They stare down at him, judging, as Lance stares up at it, and then to the megatome.

 _Go ahead_ , the skull seems to say, _I dare you_.

Lance swallows hard, and reaches forward to pluck the megatome from where it rests against the stand.

The book is warm in Lance's hands. It pulses with a warning.

Suddenly the air in the room, once stuffy with magic, is now crisp and clear. The magic has gone, summoned to the cow's skull atop a stand which is not really a stand at all.

The Gogolithic Mass. The whirling infinite. The unending darkness. The consuming shadow.

Breaking free of its invisible, cursed binds, it shifts towards Lance on legs obscured in tendrils of darkness. It lets out a screech, calling upon ancient deities for the right to kill this trespasser.

Lance runs. He doesn't look back.

Suddenly, the shadows in the entryway path seem so much lighter in comparison.

 

Session II: _"Confused? Excellent. Keep calm & carry on."_ \- The Archetype

* * *

 

 

When Lance gets back to the cabin, Keith is fuming. Partly because of the sudden raging thunderstorm, which Lance was supposed to have prevented, so what was the point? But mostly because he'd worked himself into a small panic after how long Lance spent in Mingi Taw. What if he _didn't_ stop the rain? He's never seen the horrors there, but he's heard the stories from Shiro. What if Lance failed?

If something happened—

If something happened, it really shouldn't mean anything to him. If something happened, it's nothing more than a stranger that came and went.

But then Keith thinks back to the past few nights. The laughter and comfort tucked between them. The light in Lance's eyes that returned after he was well-fed and well-rested.

He's more than a stranger. He's a friend.

There's a knock on the door, and Keith's heart clenches.

Shiro meets his gaze, and goes to open the door.

“I got it!” Lance announces.

“Got what?” says Shiro.

“The megatome.”

Shiro meets Keith's gaze again, this time questioning. Keith shrugs, shaking his head. As if he ever knew about any of the things Lance was talking about.

Except that Lance was decidedly adept at conversation. He was quick-witted and charming when he was talking about something other than this weird quest of his. There were times when something either Keith or Shiro said that seemed to remind him of the fact he should be solemn, but then a moment later, he'd pack away the sorrow and go back to being cheerful.

It was a far cry from the boy who stumbled from the mountain pass.

“It's an ancient book,” Lance says, shedding hsi wet coat. He puts his pack on the table and draws out a large volume. “It holds power.”

“Why do you need this megatome?” Shiro asks.

Lance bites his lip. He looks conflicted for a moment, and then walks over towards where Keith is sitting on his bed, tucked into the corner of the room. He settles himself on the bed next to Keith, and then pats the mattress for Shiro to join them.

Shiro settles himself on the bed, looking at the book in Lance's lap. Then he looks at Lance. Keith chances him staring.

Shiro starts, blushes, and turns away.

Keith grins, feeling smug. So Shiro has a crush, too.

Wait, _too_? Does that mean Keith has a crush?

Oh no. Fuck.

Lance opens the book. Keith carefully tucks his internal crisis into a mental box to deal with later. He must be making some sort of face because Shiro's smirking at him subtly.

Keith sticks his tongue out at Shiro and then leans over Lance's shoulder to look at the book. It's written in a language Keith can't read, and the warmth of Lance in such proximity is kinda distracting anyway. His hair, damp, drips tiny drops of water onto Keith's skin.

“There was a prophecy,” Lance starts slowly, and the low quality of his voice makes Keith's thoughts sober instantly. Something's wrong. “That I would save these mountains from the darkness inside them. The megatome is a guide. In order to be powerful enough to defeat the Gogolithic Mass in Mingi Taw, I have to tame three trigons.”

Shiro lets out a contemplative noise. “I suppose that answers any questions.”

“Does it?” Lance says softly, voice cracking. “Because I still have so many.”

“Lance.” Keith rests his hand on Lance's shoulder, trying to sooth. “What's going on?”

Lance's knuckles are white where he grips the megatome. “Why me?” he says, quiet but vicious. “I don't get it. I don't know why me. I don't know why this quest. I don't know why now. I just know that every time I try to be happy that there's something in my way.”

“Hey, you've already been to Mingi Taw and back, right?” Shiro says. “You've been through the worst.”

Lance laughs bitterly, but doesn't elaborate. He takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry. This isn't your guys' problem.”

“Hey, no,” Shiro says. “It's okay. We're here, Lance. We'll listen.”

“It's important to you, right?” Keith says. “So, we care.”

“We do,” Shiro confirms. He meets Keith's gaze over Lance.

But Lance doesn't get it. Oblivious, he shakes his head, and once again, his emotions are locked down. He returns to scrutinizing the megatome, occasionally flipping pages. Shiro and Keith wait for him to speak.

“There must be one in the sheep fields,” Lance says, squinting at the megatome. “I have to go.”

“Not tonight,” Shiro says, sounding a bit worried. “Stay.”

“I really should...” Lance starts to say.

“I insist,” Shiro says. He turns on the charm, smiling bright. Keith's heart melts, watching him.

It melts Lance's resolve too. “Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

“We can figure something out together,” Shiro offers. “You're not alone here.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. His smile lights up his face. Keith's heart melts again.

But when Keith wakes up the next morning, Lance's cot is empty.

 

Taming the first trigon leaves Lance feeling dizzy. He's standing in the field where he first met Keith, body shaking, breathing coming out in hard pants. He feels the trigon's power simmering in his veins. He tastes it against his lips where blood trickles from his nose. The megatome feels heavy in his pack, weighed down by some ancient magic.

It is done, for now.

The storm lets up, just a little.

Lance tilts his head towards the grey sky, letting the raindrops wash away the blood. It's not the fights themselves that leave him wounded—he's a Scythian, they're a hardy race—but rather the mastery of the trigon.

These are powerful beings, unknowable geometry. They are not meant to be contained in a body, human or otherwise.

Lance's, too, will fail if he doesn't hurry. Such is the beast of fate.

Lance hears a growl. In the distance, near the mountain pass, he catches a glimpse of three eyes. They watch, they observe. They follow. They corrupt.

Lance turns away.

He makes his way back to Keith and Shiro's cabin with careful steps. Every once in a while he has to pause to let his head stop spinning.

He's almost there when he hears barking. Red comes bounding out to meet him, unhindered by the rain. Lance reaches down to pat at her soaked ears.

“Keith didn't let you in, huh?” Lance asks her as she wags her tail at him. “Maybe he'll make me stay out too. Maybe I'll just come cuddle with you and the sheep.”

Red barks at him in response, and then bounds off to go dig in the mud.

Lance snorts and heads for the cabin.

He barely gets one knock on the door before it flings open, and Keith, disgruntled and frowning, is standing in the doorway.

“What the fuck,” he hisses at Lance, narrowed gaze scanning over Lance, once, twice. He grabs Lance's wrist and tugs him into the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

“Where were you?” Keith demands, though he doesn't stay waiting for an answer. Instead, he crosses the room and tugs a spare blanket out of the trunk near the fireplace. Lance expects Keith to shove it into his arms and let him deal with it, but Keith shakes out the blanket and wraps it around Lance for him, holding the fabric tight around his shoulders and staying close. When Lance doesn't answer, Keith presses, “Lance? What happened?”

Lance sighs. He unwraps the blanket from his shoulders so that he can take off his pack. It hits the floor with a thud. Even without carrying it, the megatome still weighs on Lance. “I tamed the first of the trigon.”

Keith blinks at him as Lance puts the blanket back around himself. “By yourself?”

“No, I had the sheep help me,” Lance deadpans. “Of course by myself. It's my task.”

“We said you weren't alone in this!” Keith cries.

Lance narrows his eyes at Keith, and then sighs again. “I couldn't ask you to help.”

“You didn't have to ask!” Keith huffs. “We were willing, anyway.”

“You don't get it.” Lance stubbornly looks away. “I have to do this alone.”

“Why?” Keith growls. “Why can't you just let us help you? Your pride isn't worth you getting hurt, Lance!”

Lance lets out a frustrated noise. “It's _my_ journey! My fate.” He turns to Keith, tears gathering in his eyes. “You don't... Y-you don't understand. I fucked up. My family's dead because I didn't go through with this sooner. There is magic more ancient than anything you've seen that ties me to this task. I have to, otherwise bad things happen. There's a wolf with—”

“Bad things are happening anyway!” Keith argues, cutting Lance off. “To you!”

“I don't matter!” Lance shouts back. “Don't you get it? _I don't matter_!”

“You do to me! To Shiro! He's out there looking for you right now, because some moron had to run off in the middle of the storm without telling us! We were fucking worried!”

For a moment, Lance feels guilt seize through him, but he doesn't have the chance to properly dwell on it because suddenly Keith is grabbing the edge of his blanket and pulling him close.

Their teeth clack painfully when they kiss, and Lance wonders for a moment if Keith is enough of a force of nature to set off his nose bleeding again.

Keith backs him up and presses him against the wall, his body all heat where they push seamlessly against each other. Lance's clothes are still wet, but Keith doesn't seem to care, and his hands are searing against Lance's cold skin where Keith pushes the clinging fabric of Lance's shirt out of the way to grip his waist.

Lance groans, nipping at Keith's bottom lip, and threads one hand through Keith's hair. He doesn't pull, but Keith lets out a low, needy noise anyway, and grinds against Lance's thigh. When Lance tightens his grip, Keith gasps, breaking the kiss to whine against Lance's lips.

He fumbles with Lance's pants for a moment, before managing to loosen them enough to make space for his hand. Keith wastes no time in stroking Lance to full hardness before tugging Lance's pants down further.

Lance's hip automatically rut forward when Keith removes his hand to start working on his own pants. Lance has half a mind to pull Keith's hair again, just to hear his voice—low and wanting—but that would also mean distracting Keith from his task. A moment later, when Keith has both of their dicks in his hand, pressing close, Lance decides that distracting him would have been a very bad idea. Instead, he keeps a firm grip on Keith's hair, just enough of a reminder, and lets Keith take care of him.

Damp skin keeps the friction just on the edge of too-rough, teetering on the precipice of painful, but Lance comes anyway, dragged under the wave of pleasure by the heat of Keith's palm and the caress of his breath on Lance's neck. He feels Keith's dick throb against his as he's coming down, and turns to press kisses to Keith's jaw as he works through his orgasm.

After, they both stay still for a moment, leaning against each other. Their breaths finally even out, and exhaustion hits Lance like a brick. Keith peels himself away, grimacing at the cum all over his hand.

Lance watches him as he tugs off his shirt and uses it to wipe away the mess. He tosses it towards his bed. It falls off the edge and lands on the floor.

Keith then goes to one of the dressers, rummaging through it until her procures a shirt and pair of pants. “Here,” he says. “Shiro's. I don't know if mine will fit you.”

Lance glances at Keith as he starts peeling off his damp clothing. He's pretty sure Keith is close enough to his same height and build that anything he has would fit Lance too. Lance can't find it in himself to argue.

Shiro's shirt smells pleasantly like petrichor and wood.

Lance settles in his cot. Keith sits on the floor next to him and gently pushes the hair from Lance's eyes.

“You're not alone,” Keith tells him softly.

Lance doesn't say anything. Instead, he closes his eyes and wishes for sleep to take him.

That fickle beast, however, is more unkind than Lance had thought. The weight of tamed and untamed power presses down against his chest. He rests, perhaps, but sleep does not come.

 

Later, when Keith thinks Lance is asleep, and he goes to in one of the dining table chairs, knees drawn up to his chest.

The door opens, and Lance hears Shiro's sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“He subdued the first trigon,” Keith says softly. “And... Shiro, we need to talk.”

“I need to move the sheep,” Shiro says. “Come with me.”

Keith rises from his seat. He tugs on boots and follows Shiro back out into the storm.

Lance already knows. This isn't his place.

 

Session III: _"Can you feel it? Are you beginning to understand? Do the esoteric markings & shapes inside The Megatome hold new meaning?"_ \- The Archetype

* * *

 

 

The second time Lance disappears to tame a trigon, Shiro still can't stop himself from going out to search for him.

Something settles unpleasantly in his chest, some warning attuned to his bones.

The trees are weighed by rain as Shiro ventures out into the gloom. Keith had wanted to come, but honestly, with Keith's track record of rushing into things and the foreboding notion in his ribs, Shiro thought it would be better to go alone.

He's not sure where the location of the second trigon is, which Lance might have neglected to inform them of on purpose, but Shiro knows how to follow the trail of old sorcery.

He's been trailing a three-eyed wolf for a while.

The creature itself must know Shiro is there, but it seems to be ignoring his presence, instead devoted to its destination. It's quick gait means Shiro has to jog through underbrush and dodge branches to keep up, but he refuses to give up. He's not going home until he knows Lance is safe.

Ahead of him, the wolf growls, and Shiro stops short.

The wolf sits at the entrance to a small cave. Moonlight spills into it from a hole in the roof of the cave, but only illuminates the center of the space.

Lance must be in there.

Creeping forward, Shiro only takes a few steps before the wolf turns all three of its eyes on Shiro. They bore into him, calculating. They weigh his soul, measure his life, and whatever result they find, Shiro will never know.

The wolf lunges forward, snarling and vicious and deadly.

Shiro leaps to the side and rolls onto his back, scrambling up as the wolf circles around. They stare at each other for a moment, predator and prey—who is who?

And then Shiro bolts for the cave.

A branch snags on Shiro's shirt, tearing into it and leaving a harsh scratch on Shiro's arm, but he ignores it. He ignores the pain in his ankle, too, when he steps wrong and nearly goes down.

In the cave, Shiro finds Lance instantly. He's propped up against the wall, breathing steady and eyes closed. Shiro whirls, readying himself to have to fight off a hungry wolf.

Only to find that the wolf never even gave chase. It's nowhere in sight.

“S...Shiro?” Lance's voice calls him. He sounds weaker than before. “You're here.”

“Of course I am,” Shiro says softly, going to Lance's side.

Lance smiles up at him. The foreboding in Shiro's chest turns to affection, melted by the heat of Lance's being. Then, Lance closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the wall. It takes Shiro a minute to realize he's unconscious.

Carefully, Shiro draws Lance into his arms. He carries him back to the cabin, ghosts of three-eyed wolves on the edge of his vision the entire trip.

But none draw near. They know better than to confront Lance now. They'd have to go through Shiro, first.

 

Lance wakes to the soft noises of fabric shuffling and breathing. The simple sounds of life. Life, and love.

Even without opening his eyes, he knows he's interrupted some private moment. By waking up, he's intruding.

He can hear whispering. He can't understand the words, but he understands the tone, the weight of emotion. A gasp, tapered into a moan that's cut off short, probably for the sake of not interrupting Lance's sleep.

Slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself, Lance turns his head towards the rest of the room. His head throbs slightly with the moment, remnants of his last battle. He opens his eyes to the dim of the room. There are embers in the fireplace, casting a faint warm glow across everything.

The planes of Shiro's back, specifically, as he wraps his arms around Keith and hoists him onto the table. The bandage on Shiro's upper arm doesn't seem to bother him. Keith wraps his legs around Shiro as he settles between Keith's thighs. Another stifled moan, the sound lost between the press of lips this time.

Lance watches as Keith wraps his arms around Shiro, fingers scratching down his back, dragging and marking and wanting. Shiro lets out a gasp.

Some sort of longing fills Lance, settles between his ribs next to the memory of his family. It's not jealousy. A sorrow of some sort. A knowledge that this will never truly be his, as much as he wants. As much as they might love him, too.

Shiro moves to press kisses along Keith's jaw. One of his hands is tangled in Keith's hair, keeping him obedient and pliant and beautiful as Shiro moves to kiss Keith's neck. Lance wonders if this is payback for the night before. That Shiro is marking what is his.

Keith's face is swathed in amber as he tilts his head to give Shiro more room. His lips are kissed to fullness, parted as he chokes back another moan. His gaze is hazy when he barely opens his lidded eyes, blinking slowly at Lance.

Then, the quietness is lost.

Keith makes some sort of strained noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide. He pushes at Shiro's shoulder—not to push him away, but enough to stop him in his tracks and get his attention.

“H-He's awake,” Keith manages, voice breathless.

Shiro turns to look over his shoulder at Lance. He's not mad, as Lance might have suspected. Curious, maybe. “Ah,” Shiro says, and turns back to Keith. “Do you want to talk with him?”

Keith makes a whimpering noise and looks at Shiro, clearly distressed.

Shiro presses a kiss to his temple. “Talk to him,” he says softly, gently. “Work it out. I'll be outside.”

And then he walks out of the cabin, leaving Keith and Lance and the dying embers.

They stare at each other. Lance slowly sits up, trying to be careful enough to keep his head from spinning. Keith hops down from the table, and then starts forward. He seems to think better of it, and then leans against the table, but it scoots away from him under his weight. After catching himself, Keith stands there, awkward, hugging himself.

“Lance—” he starts suddenly. “I didn't—I didn't mean—I should have told—”

“It's okay,” Lance says before Keith can start another half-sentence. “You had a life long before I came. I don't expect you to owe me anything.”

Keith stares at him.

“In fact,” Lance continues. “I'm glad you two are together. You'll still have something when I'm gone.”

“Gone?” Keith whispers. He seems shell-shocked for a moment, but then apparently decides he's going to approach that subject later. Keith shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “No, I—you don't get it. I like you. You already knew that. But—we both like you. Shiro, too. We should have told you.”

“Oh,” Lance says intelligently. His heartbeat flutters. Woven in with the longing for Keith to be happy, for Shiro to be happy, is hope. He knows there's no point. He knows his woeful errand.

But there's hope. A small flicker. A dying ember.

Lance carefully stands up. He sways, for a moment, and has to steady himself against the wall.

“Lance?” Keith whispers. His gaze is scared. The sort of scared that comes from laying your heart bear before someone and asking them not to hurt it.

Lance goes to him, movements slow and deliberate. He puts his palm on Keith's cheek and Keith visibly relaxes some.

“The greatest thing about this journey,” Lance says. “Was meeting you.”

Keith bites his lip. He lets out a little breathless chuckle before going back to looking worried. “And Shiro?”

Lance gives him a soft smile. “I'm getting to Shiro,” he says. “You were closer.”

Leaning in, Lance presses a kiss to Keith's lips, soft and intentional. It's not the last, not yet, but he knows time is limited. The faint throbbing in the back of his skull reminds him the journey is not over yet.

Lance pulls back, smiling, and then goes to the door. Shiro is standing outside of the cabin, staring up into the looming stormclouds. There's no rain, not with two trigons already subdued. This was Lance's doing, and he's making is right. Making it better. His heart lifts.

Shiro turns at the sound of the cabin door opening, looking surprised to see Lance there. He looks even more surprised when Lance walks towards him, resting a hand on Shiro's arm and drawing close.

“Lance,” Shiro says softly. “Did Keith tell you...?”

“Yes,” Lance says, running his hand down Shiro's arm until his reaches Shiro's hand.

Shiro glances down at their joined hands, letting Lance thread their fingers together. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I don't want you to feel obligated because you know how I feel.”

Lance laughs, a soft noise. “And what if I feel the same way?”

Shiro glances over at the cabin. Lance follows his gaze. Keith is in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His gaze is fond, stance relaxed. He looks content. He looks _happy_. Shiro looks back at Lance.

“You're serious,” he says softly.

Lance nods.

They come together gently, Shiro pulling Lance close with his free hand. Lance tilts his head, and Shiro fits to him like a puzzle. Their lips meet, and Shiro is so achingly gentle that Lance's heart squeezes in his chest.

Keith has to drag them both back into the cabin before they end up staying out there all night.

That night, Lance finds himself snuggled between Shiro and Keith, cot abandoned on the floor. They had to push Shiro and Keith's beds together to manage it, but manage it they did. Somewhere in their lives, somewhere in their hearts, they made room for him. They've found him. They've loved him.

Shiro presses a kiss to Lance's shoulder. “Goodnight.”

If only they didn't have to lose him.

 

Lance had told Keith it wasn't worth coming along when he faced the final trigon. Keith had argued with him, and now here he is.

He's not sure what he expected, but it wasn't this.

Lance looks surprisingly serene.

They're on the inside of a giant hollow tree. Keith is mostly sure this tree didn't exist before because he probably would have seen it after years of living in these woods, but one can never really be sure. He's sitting across from Lance, leaning against the inside of the bark, while Lance is propped against the opposite wall, eyes closed, lips parted in peaceful sleep.

Taming the trigons, apparently, is far less combative than Keith had presumed. Instead, it is a test of heart. Of soul and motive and aspiration.

A test of fate, too.

Occasionally, Lance will flinch in his sleep, and Keith jerks forward out of instinct, ready to go to Lance the second he wakes up. Every time, though, Lance returns to his calm state a moment later.

Keith is getting anxious.

Time passes, and the day drags on.

Finally, Lance slowly opens his eyes. There's a trickle of blood coming from his mouth that Keith somehow hadn't noticed until now. His skin is pale, grey and lifeless, almost. He coughs, once, weakly, and then turns to the side to vomit onto the ground.

Keith has to help him all the way back to the cabin. The storm is gone, at least. The entire time, Lance mutters something about trifectas and triangles and songs. At some point, his dead weight jerks Keith to a stop, and for a heartbeat, Keith panics, thinking Lance has died.

But no, there's his pulse, faint but fluttering, and since they're almost to the cabin, Keith props Lance up against a tree and goes to get Shiro to help carry Lance back.

It's not quite what they had expected.

But then again, they also hadn't expected to fall in love, either.

When Lance wakes, Shiro and Keith are there to tend to him. They're careful, gentle.

Lance makes them promise they won't follow him to Mingi Taw the next day. Grudgingly, they both comply.

“Good,” he gasps out. “Good. You'll b-be safe. I want you s-safe.” He coughs, a hard, wracking sound. “Th-thank you. For everything.”

Keith and Shiro are silent. Instead, they hold Lance on his last night.

 

Session IV: _"Take heart – The end is near!"_ \- The Archetype

* * *

 

 

Lance hadn't expected it to hurt.

The trip up to the top of Mingi Taw had been grueling. It was slow going, especially with his body hellbent on failing him. He had to stop to throw up twice, and each time, the hum of the consuming darkness of the Gogolithic Mass grew louder.

By the time Lance reached the top, it was upon him.

This is where it is meant to happen, Lance reminds himself. This was all supposed to happen, just as it did.

But he didn't know his heart would ache so much.

He didn't think he'd fall for two boys so willing to help him on a quest they knew nothing of. He didn't think he'd find solace in their smiles or kindness in their gaze. He didn't think he'd leave some of his heart behind with them, even when he should be completely dedicated to his woeful errand.

Even now, some part of him longs to abandon this. He wants to run back to Shiro and Keith. He wants to hold them, one last time, at least.

But it's too late. His body is failing. The Gogolithic Mass is upon him, twisting shadows surrounding him.

The megatome is warm where Lance presses it to his chest. He slowly holds it up, arms straining with fatigue.

This is it.

The shadows screech and writhe around him, baited, trapped, decimated.

The megatome is lost to the screams of darkness.

Lance is lost to fate, a three-eyed wolf coming to take him, saliva dripping from its jowls. Lance accepts it. It is time. As it should be.

He really didn't think he'd want to stay as much as he does. He didn't expect to be crying when he was taken, either. But even some aspects of destiny are left up to the destined.

Goodbye.

 

The fire burns, smoke dancing towards the clear sky. Keith almost wants it to be raining. If the storm was still here, then Lance would still be here, too.

Instead, all that's left is ash.

Lance's body burns. So do the tears running down Keith's cheeks.

Shrio holds him close, his own tears decorating his cheeks, but at some point, Keith can't take it anymore.

He runs back to the cabin. Holds Red until she gets too fidgety and runs off to go dig in the field somewhere. Alone, Keith feels numb.

Alone. Maybe Lance was, after all.

But no, Keith still feels Lance in his heart. He still feels that old magic, ancient and unkind and glorious: love.

 

Shiro had sworn he'd never return here.

But that was before Lance. That was before a boy with impossibly blue eyes slipped into his life and turned his world upside down and sacrificed himself to stop a swirling, unending darkness.

So here Shiro stands, at the gate to Mingi Taw.

He closes his eyes for a moment, remembering a wide smile and laughter and the smoke of a funeral pyre. Then, he pushes past his lingering fear and into the mountain.

The path which had once seemed so foreboding is now empty. There's no cheer or kindness in the stone walls, but there is no longer hatred and destruction, either. There simply isn't.

Shiro remembers walking this path, remembers trying to reach the heart of the mountain and failing. He remembers creatures of unspeakable shapes and horrors, with claws dripping with blood and teeth dripping with venom. Now: he passes easily.

The end of the path opens into a clearing. The ceiling of the cave disappears, revealing a deep blue sky, turned indigo by the setting sun. On the far side of the clearing are two rectangular archways cut into the stone. Between them is a third opening, leading onto a small stone balcony. Perhaps this place was once for rituals of the old gods.

As Shiro nears one of the doorways, he realizes there are runes carved into the stone. There is history here, written into the heart of the mountain.

Unafraid, Shiro passes through the entrance.

The cavern that spans the space before him looks just barely cut enough for Shiro to question whether it's natural or being-made. More unknowable geometry, he supposes. Even here. Even after everything.

Shiro climbs his way up rough stairs, making his way to the center of the far wall of the cavern. Moonlight begins to shine through the center entryway, casting a silver glow across Shiro's path. Shiro wonders if that's a sign. Shiro wonders if this is his fate, as was Lance's own.

He lets the pack—Lance's pack—slip from his shoulders. There's so little that Lance left with them. A pair of clothes. His pack, though it was surprisingly empty when Shiro went through it. A few snacks, stale now. Changes of clothes, mostly worn. A beaded necklace, the history of which Shiro and Keith will never know.

Shiro brought a couple of other things, too: a chisel and hammer, which he uses to engrave Lance's memory upon the place that hunted him down. He carves as neatly as he can, because Lance would have liked something pretty to be remembered by.

_Lance_

_A stranger, a hero, a friend_

_We'll miss you_

Shiro feels tears wet his cheeks as he works, but it doesn't stop him. When he's done with the inscription, he places Lance's clothes underneath it, with the necklace carefully arranged on top. Keith had gone out to get some flowers, and so Shiro leaves those resting against the stone, too. Small tributes.

“I didn't bring anything,” Shiro whispers to the makeshift altar. “I didn't know what to bring.”

There's silence in response. Shiro didn't expect anything to happen.

But perhaps he had hoped.

Shiro wipes the tears from his cheeks and stands, putting his tools back in the pack and getting ready to leave. He glances over his shoulder once, wistful, but nothing has changed. Lance was such a fleeting part of their lives. He touched their hearts and left them in too short a time. And yet, Shiro feels the impact of the past couple of weeks bear down on him.

He misses Lance. If he holds his breath, he can almost hear the echo of his laughter, light and kind and carefree, now that his journey is over.

Maybe it's better that way.

“Goodbye,” Shiro whispers over his shoulder as he leaves the clearing.

 _Goodbye_ , the stone echoes back.

Either way, it is done.

 

* * *

_Your woeful errand is at an end._  
_Now we are cosmic friends forever... OK?_


End file.
